Dark Mirror of My Dreams
by nightwalker3
Summary: [complete] How lucky I am to have known someone who was so hard to say goodbye to.


! 

Harry Potter and all associated characters are the property of JK Rowling. I have no right to any of them, and sincerely hope no one decides to get upset with me for having a little fun. If I should be sued, I shall lose, and the victor shall end up with a grumpy cat and my tuition bills. I'm certainly not making a profit off this - If I was, I'd have finished it a lot sooner. 

* * *

Dark Mirror of My Dreams 

"How lucky I am to have known someone who was so hard to say goodbye to." - unknown 

* * *

The nightmare left him shaking and out of breath. He stared up at the ceiling as he gasped for air and tried to calm himself. Sweat stung his eyes and he reached up with a trembling hand to wipe at them. He forced himself to breathe deeply, forcing down the edge of panic left over form the nightmare, and his body slowly obeyed him until he could breathe normally and his heart was easing back to it's normal pace. Images of the nightmare continued to haunt him, taunting the corners of his mind with flashes of green light, cries of pain, and the crimson splash of blood against a stone wall. A new nightmare to add to the collection. His parents' deaths, the chess set, Dementors, merpeople and now this. His mind shied away from the details of the nightmare, but even the thought was even to make his heartbeat speed back up and his hands shake. 

"Harry?" There was a dip at the side of the bed as someone came to sit there. "Are you all right?" 

Ron. The sound of his best friend's voice was a wave of comfort, washing over him. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Nightmare," he confessed quietly. 

"Must've been a bad one," Ron said sympathetically. Ron would know. How many nightmares had he seen Harry through over the years? Too many to count anymore. 

Harry turned his head to look at his friend. Ron was a little paler than normal, but otherwise unharmed. The memory of an unmoving, bloodied Ron, laying sprawled across the floor skittered through his head, sending his heartbeat into triple-time. He forced it back, replaced it with the sight of his friend sitting beside him, healthy and whole. 

"Was it him?" Ron asked carefully, his eyes meeting Harry's and conveying comfort and concern. Harry felt himself relaxing beneath that gaze. 

"Yeah," he finally said. "It was... bad." 

"Not surprising," Ron said with a half smile. "Nothing about him is ever good. And this time," his gaze fixed on something across the room, "this time it came awfully close." 

Harry followed and was startled to realize they were in the infirmary. Of course, he thought. They brought us here after... The object of Ron's attention was obvious - his older brother Fred lay in a bed on the far side of the infirmary, his arm wrapped in thick white bandages, another wrapped around his head, stark white in the darkness of the room. Fred's twin, George, sat slumped in a chair beside the bed, looking more or less unharmed, but drawn with exhaustion. Harry's mind rang with angry voices, the horrible crack of a bone snapping, a cry of pain, a scream of fury. He shook himself and pulled his gaze from the twins to find Ron watching him. 

"They'll be okay," Ron said confidently. "Once the last of the spell wears off completely and they can use magic to heal Fred, he'll be fine. It could've been worse." 

"How much worse does it have to get?" Harry asked tiredly. "He's going to keep coming." 

"Not any time too soon," Ron replied, teeth flashing in a triumphant grin. "You got him good, Harry. He's hurting and he's crawled off to lick his wounds in peace somewhere. It'll be a while till he's willing to face you again." 

Harry rolled onto his side, staring at the neatly made bed beside his. "Someone's going to die, Ron. People already have." 

"Won't it be worth it?" Ron asked quietly. "I mean, there are worse ways to go." 

Harry closed his eyes tightly. "Worse than what happened to Cedric? Or my parents? I don't want that to happen to anyone else, Ron." 

"No one does. But if it's the only way... It sounds all dramatic," Ron said with a crooked smile, "but we're willing to die if it's the only way to stop him." 

"Don't say that!" Harry stared up at his friend, seeing the unusually gentle gaze watching him. His eyes caught and locked with Ron's, and Harry saw emotions he could barely name glittering behind his friend's eyes. "Don't," he repeated softly. "I don't want anyone to die." 

"None of us want to die," Ron said gently. "I mean, really, who does?" He shrugged a little. "Me personally, I'd rather live to be a thousand and die in my sleep, but hey." 

"Ron..." 

"Sometimes we don't get what we want, you know? You don't want anyone to die, we don't want to die." He leaned toward Harry and reached out, rubbing his thumb over the scar on Harry's forehead. "We don't want you to die, either." 

Ron's touch was soothing, and Harry slowly relaxed under it. "I don't want to die, either, Ron." 

Ron's hand rested against his forehead. "You've got a whole lot of people making sure that doesn't happen." 

Guilt swelled in Harry's chest. "Putting themselves in danger to protect me," he said flatly. "It's not worth it." 

Ron's hand was gone suddenly, leaving Harry's skin cool without that touch. 

Ron spoke, and his voice was hoarse. "Don't say that. Don't. Of course it's worth it, Harry." 

Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position and stared at his friend. The other boy was pale and shaking, his eyes large and shining. "I won't have people throwing themselves between me and Voldemort just because of some stupid belief that I'm this big hero. Harry Potter, the boy who lived," he said scornfully. "I won't have it." 

"So forget the ten million people who've never met you." Ron gripped the shirt of Harry's pajamas and gave him a little shake. "What about us, you idiot? Hermione and Sirious and Dumbledore and Hagrid? What about me, Harry? Am I allowed to die for you? Because you're my best friend and I care about you more than anyone else in the world and it would kill me to see him ever get his hands on you? If my dying can keep you safe for even a few minutes, then I think it's worth it. Are you going to look me in the face and tell me it would be worthless?" 

Harry gripped Ron's hand tightly, holding it in place. He opened his mouth to ask what had gotten into his friend, but instead heard himself admit in a shaking voice, "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you." 

Ron looked at him in surprise. "You'll survive. You'll graduate. You'll become a great wizard." 

"A great, lonely wizard." Harry forced a grin. "And a bored one. What would I do without you getting me into trouble?" 

With an indelicate snort, Ron poked Harry in the chest with his free hand. "Who gets who into trouble?" 

"You certainly help!" Seeing the skepticism in his friends face, Harry relented. "Well, you don't object too much." 

"Too much," Ron echoed dryly. "That's a way of putting it." He ruffled Harry's hair with his free hand, grinning at the expression on his friend's face. "Harry, you know I mean it, don't you?" he asked. "What I said about it being worth it to me? I mean it." 

"I know." Harry swallowed. "But I don't want you too." 

"We don't always get what we want," Ron repeated himself gently. 

Harry sighed. "Why are you talking like this, Ron? I don't like it." 

"Some things need to be said while there's still time," Ron said quietly. 

Harry tightened his grip on Ron's hand pressing it tightly against his chest. His heartbeat thumped against their joined hands. "You're talking like it's going to happen tomorrow. You said yourself, he won't be back for a while." 

"I meant it too. You hurt him bad this time." Ron smiled gently at him. "Coolest thing I ever saw." 

"Idiot," Harry said fondly. 

"Yup!" Ron grinned and wiggled his fingers slightly in Harry's grip. Harry blushed slightly and loosened his hold, but didn't let go. "It's hard not to be proud when your best friend pulls off the impossible." 

"Not impossible," Harry objected. "If it hadn't been me, someone would have managed." 

Ron smiled. "Maybe." 

There was a long, silent pause and Harry felt himself drifting off. He was dimly aware of Ron leaning forward and brushing his hand over Harry's forehead again. "You are my best friend, Harry," Ron said quietly. "You've been my friend when it would've been easier to look the other way, you've stood up for me, you've been at my back whenever I needed you there, and you've forgiven me for saying things that I haven't even forgiven myself for. Don't know how I ended up with you, but I'm glad I did." 

Harry sighed, warmth spreading through him and the gentle touch and caring words. "I'm glad, too," he said sleepily. "Love you, Ron." 

His friend laughed softly. "Ah, Harry. Love you, too. I'll stick around as long as I can, I promise. But either way, you'll see me again. Not for a long time, maybe..." 

"Ron?" Harry frowned and struggled against his exhaustion to open his eyes. "Ron?" 

The hand he held in his was suddenly gone and his hand fell against his own chest. "Ron!" 

"Harry, wake up, sweetheart." A warm hand pressed against his forehead, but it was the wrong hand, the wrong voice. A woman's voice. "Harry, come on. Wake up." 

"No!" What the hell was going on? The green light was back, the shouts and cries. "Ron?" Make it stop. "Ron, please..." 

"Harry?" Different voice this time. George? Or Fred? "Harry, come on, you're scaring Mum. Wake up?" 

Mum? Molly Weasley? What was she doing there? Harry forced his eyes open and found himself on the receiving end of several concerned gazes. George Weasley looked tired and pale, and his mother stood beside him, her hand on Harry's forehead, her eyes red and tired. "Welcome back," George said lightly. "You've been out of it for two days." 

Harry blinked up at them. "what-?" 

"You okay, Harry?" George stepped aside and Fred took his place. Harry's eyes found the bandage around his forehead and arm. "Spell hasn't worn off yet?" he asked vaguely. 

That was all it took. Memories piled in on him, overwhelming him in bright flashes. Ron, struggling in Voldemort's grip. Voldemort's voice, deep and furious, demanding to know where Harry was, and Ron's choked refusal. Ron being thrown back, and a heart-stopping crack as he slammed into the stone wall, leaving a splash of crimson-red blood and sliding to a huddled heap on the floor. Harry's mind edited out nothing. Not the streaks of blood covering Ron's face, or the way his green eyes found Harry's as he stood in the doorway staring in shock before slowly sliding shut. Dimly, he remembered hearing Fred and George screaming, Fred rushing toward his brother, only to be magically pushed away, and slammed to the floor, his arm snapping beneath the force of it, and his head slamming into the floor. Beyond that was a blur of fury and panic, green light and flashes of lightening. Harry remembered falling to his knees beside his best friend, remembered hands at his shoulders, trying to urge him away, a burning pain throughout his entire body. Then darkness. A darkness that had apparently lasted for two days. 

Now he opened his eyes again and saw the tired faces above him. "I'm sorry," he whispered miserably. 

Mrs. Weasley leaned down and hugged him gently. "Oh, Harry. They told me what happened. None of it was your fault." 

He died protecting me. Harry thought dully. He said... He said it was worth it. He clenched his right hand, remembering the feel of Ron's hand. He said I was his best friend. 

"It'll be all right," Mrs. Weasley said soothingly. "It will, Harry. You just need to get some rest." 

All right? "No..." Harry sighed. He closed his eyes and turned away. 

Not all right. Not for a long time. 

"you'll see me again. Not for a long time, maybe..." 

end 


End file.
